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Fortunately； by the time Keith was old enough to go out hunting； there was practically nothing left to shoot in Miami except for rats and low…flying seagulls。 Every autumn； Keith badgered his father into taking him to the Big Cypress Swamp or private hunting camps in the Everglades； where the deer were chased into high water by airboats and shot at point…blank range。 The elder Higstrom dreaded these excursions and found no sport in the killing； but his son couldn't have been happier had he been lobbing grenades at crippled fawns。
It was on one such miserable morning that Keith Higstrom's father swore off hunting forever。 They were riding a tank…sized swamp buggy in hot pursuit of a scraggly； half…senile bobcat。 Suddenly Keith began firing wildly at an object high in the sky…a bald eagle； it turned out； a federally protected species。 The attempted felony was not consummated； due to the young man's shaky aim； but in the fever of the moment he managed to blow off his father's left ear。
Deafened； blood…drenched； writhing facedown in Everglades marl； the elder Higstrom experienced a peculiar catharsis； an unexpected soothing of the soul； as if a cool white sheet were slowly being drawn over his head。 Yes； his injury was terrible； and the deafness would （if he came clean about it） cost him his job as an air traffic controller。 On the other hand； he could never again be forced to go hunting with his excitable son！
Keith Higstrom couldn't duck responsibility for the accident； nor the guilt that went with it。 His father recovered from the gunshot wound； and was kind enough not to bring it up more than once or twice a day。 Before long； Keith's remorse gave way to an unspoken resentment； for he perceived that his father was using the missing ear as an excuse to avoid their weekend expeditions。 A plastic surgeon had attached a durable polyurethane facsimile to the left side of the elder Higstrom's head； while a high…tech hearing aid had restored the old man's auditory capacity to eighty…one percent of what it was before the Everglades mishap。 Yet he stubbornly refused to pick up a gun。 Doctor's orders； he squawked。
For Keith； outdoor panionship was increasingly hard to e by。 His friends always seemed to have prior mitments whenever Keith invited them to go hunting。 Frustrated and restless； he spent long sullen weekends cleaning his guns and watching videotapes of his favorite American Sportsman episodes。 Whenever his trigger finger got itchy； he'd drive out the Tamiami Trail and park by the canal。 As soon as darkness fell； Keith would load a double…barrel shotgun； strap on a headlamp and stalk along the shoreline。 His usual targets were turtles and opossums； anything faster or smarter generally eluded him。
Shortly after the hurricane； Keith Higstrom noticed four dairy cows and a palomino mare grazing on his neighbor's front lawn。 Everyone on the block was gathered on the sidewalk； laughing and taking pictures； a light moment of relief in the otherwise somber aftermath of the storm。 That night； drinking with his buddies at an Irish bar on Kendall Drive； Keith asked： 〃How much does a cow weigh？〃
One of Keith's friends said； 〃I give up； Higstrom。 How much does a cow weigh？〃
〃It's not a joke。 More than an elk？ Because I got cows loose on my street。〃
One of his friends said； 〃From the hurricane。〃
〃Yeah； but how big do you figure？ More than a mulie？〃 Keith Higstrom drained his Budweiser and stood up。 〃Let's go hunting； boys。〃
〃Sit down； Higstrom。〃
〃You pussies ing or not？〃
〃Have another beer； Keith。〃
With a burp； he charged out the door。 He drove home； slipped into the den； and removed his grandfather's old 。30…06 from the maple gun cabinet。 He dropped a box of bullets； and giggled drunkenly when nobody woke up。 He pulled on his boots and his mailorder camo jumpsuit； strapped on the headlamp； and went looking for a cow to shoot。
They were no longer grazing in his neighbor's front yard。 Dropping into an exaggerated half crouch； Keith Higstrom weaved down the block。 He felt light as a feather； lethal as a snake。 The rifle was slick and magnificent in his hands。 His plan was to tie the dead cow on the front fender of his Honda Civic and drive all the way back to Kendall； back to the Irish bar where his chickenshit pals were drinking。 Keith Higstrom chuckled in advance at the spectacle。
For cover he used mounds of hurricane debris； shuffling noisily from one to another。 The street was empty and black and shadowless； the homes on the north side still had no electricity。 Passing the Ullmans' house； Keith Higstrom heard something in the backyard…deep raspy snorting。 He thought it might be the runaway palomino。 As he snuck around the corner of the garage； the beam of Keith Higstrom's headlamp illuminated a pair of glistening indigo eyes； as large as ashtrays。
〃God damn；〃 he exclaimed。
An enormous animal stood next to the Ullmans' half…drained swimming pool。 The light from Keith's headlamp played up and down its blue…black flanks。 This was no ordinary cow。 For starters； it was as big as a tractor。
Its sharp horns were lavishly curved and downslung； upside down from those of domestic American stock。
Keith Higstrom knew exactly what he was looking at。 Hadn't he watched Jimmy Dean and Curt Gowdy shoot one of the very same majestic bastards on The American I Sportsman？ But that was in Africa； for Christ's sake。 Not Miami； Florida。
It occurred to Keith that he might be suffering the effects of too much alcohol； that the gigantic oval…eyed ungulate glaring at him was merely a Budweiser…enhanced Angus。
Then it snorted again； expelling twin strings of dewy snot。 The animal lowered its head and； with hooves the size of laundry irons； decisively pawed a trench in the Ullmans' newly replanted Bermuda sod。
〃Shit on a biscuit；〃 Keith Higstrom said； raising his grandfather's rifle。 〃That's a Cape buffalo！〃
He fired and； naturally； missed。 Twice。
The gunshots awakened Mr。 Ullman； a banker by trade and a recent arrival from Copenhagen； who looked out the bedroom window just in time to see a tremendous bull galloping across his yard with a thrashing young American impaled on its rack。 Mr。 Ullman quickly telephoned the police and informed them； as urgently as his newly acquired English would allow； that an 〃unlucky cowboy is being perforated seriously。〃 Eventually the police figured out what Mr。 Ullman was trying to say。
Two hours later； a police dispatcher phoned Augustine's house with a message： His dead uncle's missing Cape buffalo； identified by an ear tag； had turned up in the produce aisle of a storm…gutted supermarket。 Unfortunately； there was trouble。 The dispatcher requested that Augustine call Animal Control as soon as possible。
Augustine didn't check his answering machine for several hours； because he was out on Biscayne Bay with Bonnie Lamb。
They had borrowed the speedboat from one of Augustine's friends； an airline pilot。 The pilot owed Augustine a favor from a long…ago divorce； when Augustine had let him bury 45；000 worth of gold Krugerrands behind Augustine's garage； to conceal them from his future ex…wife's private investigator。 After the divorce litigation ended； the airline pilot was left with nothing but the hidden stash of coins。 He immediately depleted them on a ninety…one…pound fashion model； who later abandoned him at a five…star hotel in Morocco。 Although years had passed； the pilot never forgot Augustine's act of friendship in a time of personal crisis。
The speedboat was on a trailer at a marina in North Miami Beach； untouched by the hurricane。 Augustine and Bonnie Lamb met Jim Tile there。 His eyes were red and his voice was raw。 He told them that a close friend； a female trooper； had been savagely beaten by a car thief； and that he would have preferred to be out on road patrol； hunting for the gutless low…life sonofabitch。
As distracted as he was； Jim Tile also seemed visibly anxious about the boat trip。 Even in the dark； the bay looked rough and tricky。 Oddly； Bonnie Lamb wasn't worried。 Maybe it was the way Augustine handled himself behind the wheel； steering casually with two fingers as he aimed； with his free hand； the spotlight。
Smoothly he weaved around massive tree limbs and wind…split lumber and ghostly capsized hulls。 The scary ride temporarily took Jim Tile's mind off the image of Brenda on an ambulance stretcher。。。。
Bonnie was anticipating her first sight of the man called Skink。 She kept thinking about the bloodied corpse in the morgue…impaled on a TV dish； the trooper had said。 Was Skink the killer？ To hear the trooper tell it； the ex…governor was not a nut of the certifiable； Mansonesque strain。 Rather； he was launched on a mission： a reckless doomed mission； boisterously outside the law。 Bonnie was intrigued by bold eccentrics。 She wasn't afraid of Skink； not with the trooper and Augustine at her side。 In an odd way； although she'd never admit it； she looked forward to confronting the kidnapper almost as much as to reuniting with her husband。。。。
Now Jim Tile and Augustine were struggling to drag the unconscious man over the gunwale of the speedboat。 His clothes were soaked； adding to his considerable bulk。 Bonnie Lamb tried to help。 Augustine got a silvery handful of the man's hair； the trooper had him by the belt loops； Bonnie dug her fingers in the tongues of his boots…and finally the kidnapper was on the deck； vomiting seawater。
From the bow came a whine of disgust： Max Lamb； arms folded； face pinched； sucking a Bronco cigaret。 Bonnie turned back to the tranquilized stranger。 The trooper knelt beside him。 With a handkerchief he cleaned the foul splatter off Skirik's face； 〃the glass eye needed special attention。
Augustine said； 〃He's breathing。〃
A volcanic cough； and then： 〃I saw lobsters big as Sonny Listen。〃 Skink raised his head。
Jim Tile said； 〃Be still now。〃
〃My Walkman！〃
〃We'll get you a new one。 Now lie still。〃
Skink lowered his head with a sharp clunk。 Humming； he shut both eyes。
Bonnie Lamb asked； 〃What do we do with him？〃
Max laughed acidly。 〃He's going to jail； what'd you think？〃
Bonnie looked at Augustine； who said； 〃It's up to Jim。 He's the law。〃
The trooper had a thermos open； trying to get some hot coffee into his groggy friend。 Bonnie put her hands under the kidnapper's head to help him drink。 Augustine went to the console and started the boat。 Over the noise of the engines； Bonnie asked Jim Tile if she should sit with the man during the ride back； in case he got ill again。 The trooper leaned close and in a low voice said： 〃He's all right now。 Go check on your husband。〃
〃OK；〃 Bonnie said。 She was glad for the darkness； so the trooper couldn't see her blush。 Neither could Max。
The conversation between Gar Whitmark and his wife was not a loving one。 That she had handed seven thousand cash to a band of crooked roofers was infuriating enough； that she had failed to ask the name of the one taking the money was unforgivably stupid。 The only clue in tracking the thieves was the piece of yellow paper that had been given by the phony roofing foreman to Mrs。 Whitmark； the yellow paper intended to double as a receipt and an estimate； the yellow paper that Mrs。 Whitmark had instantly misplaced。
Gar Whitmark's anger had another facet。 He was by trade a builder of residential subdivisions； and was therefore personally familiar with every honest； petent roofer in Dade County。 The list was not voluminous； but from it Gar Whitmark had intended to select the crew that would rebuild the roof of his gutted home。 He'd left messages with a half…dozen panies； and had explained （repeatedly） to his wife that it would take time to line up the job。 The hurricane had launched a drooling Klondike stampede among roofers…the best ones were swamped with emergency work and likely would be engaged for months to e。 Meanwhile out…of…towners were pouring into Miami by the truckload； some were capable and experienced； some were hapless and inept； and many were gypsy impostors。 All arrived to find boundless opportunity。
The typical hurricane vi